Hit the Road, Jacques!

Sábado 24 Julio 2010, 20:30. Estoy sentado de copiloto. Tarun conduce, atrás van su tio, su primo y su sobrino. Vamos en representación de la familia Sharma a la fiesta (reception) de la boda que se celebró ayer. Espero pasar desapercibido. Entramos en la puerta, vienen directamente a mi. El de mi izquierda se presenta como Chinky, de aproximadamente 23 años, y el de mi derecha como Loveli, de unos 28. Me preguntan, eufóricos, que qué quiero beber… vino, cerveza? Cerveza. No tenemos. Pues vino. ¡Quiere vino! Cada uno me coje de una mano en signo de amistad, me sacan de la fiesta y me llevan a un antro oscuro a 15 metros bajo la mirada impotente de Tarun y escondidos de la multitud. Me sirven “vino”: una dosis de chupito y medio de ron con mucha cocacola. Se quedan maravillados al ver que termino dos vasos de trago, aunque tienen miedo de que me siente mal. Otro se rie porque creen que me van a emborrachar. Me vuelven a coger de las manos y me quieren hacer bailar con ellos. Pido prórroga diciendo que no he cenado. Me obligan a sentarme, me traen comida y agua, unas 12 personas (de 6 a 28 años, varones todos) me hacen corro no dejándome masticar dos veces sin preguntarme algo (repitiendo las preguntas porque con el ruido no se oyen unos a otros): “¿Está buena la comida?”, “¿Demasiado picante?”, “¿Está buena la raita?”, “¿Te gusta la India?”, “¿Cuántas novias tienes?”, “¿En España se come con palillos?”. Me ametrallan con preguntas en la cena más larga y estresante de mi vida. Ahora, ¡a bailar! Lo siento chicos, necesito un cigarro (y descansar de ellos). Genial, me siguen a ver cómo me lo fumo 10 locos (los he contado). Más preguntas. Entramos, me cogen de las manos, ¡A bailar! Estoy  cansado, no me siento con confianza, no sé bailar, me da vergüenza… nada funciona. Me echan a la pista de baile dónde 5 personas se pelean por atraer mi atención para que les siga los coreografiados pasos de baile, se excitan con cada chorrada que hago. Un momento, esta canción que entra me suena de algo… “La he pedido para ti, ¡para que bailes!” ¿¿QUÉÉÉ?? ¡¿¡¿A mí me gusta la gasolina?!?! Se saben la letra mejor que yo, me quieren hacer perrear, al final consiguen que haga unos golpes de pelvis y les invade la euforia. Más canciones del Punjab, me hacen foto, me graban en video, me hacen corro, y tras un rato exagero mi cansancio y me voy a sentar. Me siguen mis psicopáticos apóstoles, otra batería de preguntas “¿Tienes coche?” (no tengo, pequeña decepción), “¿Has tenido romance íntimo con tu novia?”, “¿Me invitarás a tu boda?”, (susurrando) “¿Te ha sentado bien el alcohol? ¿Lo notas?”… me presentan a aproximadamente y sin exagerar 30 personas, todos tienen un amigo o familiar que quieren que conozca. Pretenden que recuerde los nombres aunque si lo hago, digo “This people is chotya” o “Hai oi mere dadiaraba” se alegran o se parten. Tras un rato interminable y unas cuantas miradas de auxilio a Tarun, decide que nos tenemos que ir a casa y puedo descansar.


Saturday 24th July, 20:30. I’m on the co-driver seat. Tarun is driving, at the backseats, his uncle, cousin and nephew. We are going, representing the Sharma family, to the reception (party) a day after the actual marriage of some relatives in a small village close to Dandi. I hope I will go unnoticed. We cross the door, they come straight to me. At my left Chinky, around 23 yo, and at my right Loveli, around 28 yo. They ask me euphorically what do I drink. Beer, wine? Beer. Sorry, we don’t have beer. Wine then. He wants wine! They both take each of my hands (friendship sign), take me out of the party and lead me to some antro 15 meters away, under the impotent look of Tarun and hidden from the rest of the party. They give me “wine”, around one and a half shot of rum with a lot of coke. They are amazed when I down two glasses. One of them is laughing cause he thinks I will be very drunk soon. They both again take my hands, bring me to the party and want to make me dance. I can postpone it saying that I’m a bit hungry. They force me to sit down, they bring me food and water, and around 12 people (around 6 to 28 yo, all males) make a circle around me while they don’t let me chew even twice without asking questions (most of them were already answered, but they don’t hear each other with the music): “Do you like the food?”, “Is it too spicy?”, “Is the raita good?”, “Do you like India?”, “How many girlfriends do you have?”, “Do you eat with chopsticks in Spain?”. They open fire with questions for the longest and most stressful dinner in my life. Now, let’s dance! I’m sorry guys, I need a smoke, I’m going outside for a while. Awesome, 10 crazy lads – I counted them -are following me to see how I smoke a fag. More questions. Back to the party, they take my hands. Let’s dance! I’m tired, I’m not very self confident here, I cannot dance, I’m shy… nothing works. They push me into the dancing floor where 5 guys are competing for attention so I can follow their choreographed dance steps. They get excited with every stupidity that I do. Wait a minute, I know the song which starts… ”I requested it for you so you can dance it!” WHAAT? A mi me gusta la gasolina?!?!? (reggeaton, south american music, hate it) They know the lyrics much better than me, they want to make me “perrear” (reggaeton dance involving sexual movements and some rubbing with females, disgusting), finally they achieve their goal and I do some pelvis movements which gets them even more exited. More Punjab songs, they take pics of me, record me, dance around me, and after a while I exaggerate my fatigue and have a seat. My psycho apostles follow me, another set of questions: “Do you have a car?” (I don’t, little disappointment for them), “did you had intimate romance with your girlfriend?”, “will you invite me to your wedding?”, (whispering) “Wasn’t the alcohol bad? Do you feel it?”. They introduce me around (and no exaggeration) 30 persons, one after another, everybody has a friend or a relative they want me to know. They're expecting me to remember all the names, however if I remember any, say “This people is chotya” o “Hai oi mere dadiaraba” they are happy or thy laugh. After an endless moment and some help glances to Tarun, he decides it’s time to leave and I finally rest.